


La Vie in Rose

by Flayedprincess



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Widowreaper - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 21:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11883384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flayedprincess/pseuds/Flayedprincess
Summary: Widowmaker is haunted by memories of her past. However, these reminders of her life as Amélie Lacroix are interfering with her work as one of Talon's top assassins - As well as awakening emotions she thought were repressed for good. Comfort, however, is closer than she could have ever imagined.





	La Vie in Rose

“ _Gérard_!”

Amélie shot up, touching her neck with a clammy hand. Sweat-slicked hair clung to her skin.

“Mon dieu. Another dream…”

Tossing back the thin sheet, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The linoleum floor was ice cold.

The room Talon had supplied her with was nothing to write home about. It was dreadfully simple, and brought to mind a hospital room. Tile flooring, neutral-colored walls. A simple blue blanket spread over an uncomfortable metal bed. Even the smell reminded her of a hospital – So plain, smelling solely of the cold, clean air that circulated the secluded building.

The bathroom smelled of chemicals, as they were all cleaned daily, and her sense of smell was heightened and therefore dreadfully sensitive. Her faucet dripped, as it did all the time. She wondered if it would ever be fixed. Sometimes, it’s continual _drip, drip, drip_ kept her up at night. But, if she were to complain about it, they might wonder why something so mundane bothered her. And that might equal another injection, or another therapy session. Neither of these things were pleasant to endure. So, the sink would just have to continue to drip for now.

She gripped the sides of the pedestal sink, and slowly brought her eyes up from the leaky faucet to the mirror before her.

Facing her reflection was one of the hardest tasks Amélie faced on a day-to-day basis. First, she was met with the eyes. She could almost recall a time when they were a glossy brown, the color of copper against honey. Now, they were an inhuman yellow. A frightening color, the eye color the monster had in children’s stories.

Then came her skin. On several missions, Amélie met with or saw other women around her age. Their skin could range from a beautiful, dark umber to a pale tawny shade, littered with freckles. But Amélie’s? Blue, like a walking cadaver. Was she really more than that, she wondered? Other than the fact she could move and speak, she wasn’t so unlike a cold, dead body. This further separated her from those on the outside. She often felt so alien – So different from everyone else.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a haircut. Her thick, black locks tumbled down past her hips, now, mostly all one length. She tied it up into a ponytail, as she did most every day.

“Suppose I better get dressed.”

When not on a mission, her casual clothes consisted of a pair of simple black leggings, boots and a turtleneck. Further accessories were pointless and therefore not even so much as a part of her wardrobe.

While sliding her leggings on, she couldn’t help but think about that dream—No, that nightmare. The one that woke her in screaming terror and cold sweat…

She did not normally dream. And she was thankful for that. When she laid down her head, and her eyelids grew heavy, she was enveloped in sweet, dreamless darkness. Free from her thoughts, she could usually rest easy.

But now, she was dreaming… Dreaming of the past? Of Gérard Lacroix? It worried her. She didn’t want to be reminded of him, nor of her past life before Talon. She was advised _not_ to think of those things, under any circumstance. Or the consequences would not be in her favor.

“Amélie.”

Her head snapped up. The heavy, metal door to her room slid open.

“What do you want?”

Gabe was usually a welcome sight. The two had become fast friends, as well as comrades, when she became a part of Talon. Amélie saw a lot of herself in him… A person who had long since abandoned his old self. For very different reasons, from what she’d heard. But they could relate on some level, and that was what mattered to her.

But right now, she didn’t want to see even Gabe. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, to sort things out, to… Something. She had to do something. She couldn’t afford to let something slip around someone else.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Came his reply, in that gravelly tone. His voice always sounded so disconnected. Dark, and somehow ethereal. Like it came from another dimension. Or perhaps she was overthinking it.

“I…” She hesitated. “Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t get comfortable.”

He strode closer, arms folded over his chest. “Bullshit. You sleep like a rock any other time. There’s more to it.”

She looked at him, then away. Then back, with a deep sigh. “I had a… A dream. A _cauchemar_.”

“A what?” Gabe’s French had drastically improved upon meeting Amélie. But to say it had drastically improved meant he went from nothing none, to knowing only a few words. So, he was still far from fluent.

She shook her head, inwardly smacking herself on the forehead. “A nightmare.”

“About what?”

She absentmindedly rubbed an arm, studying the grooves in the flooring. Counting out the squares as she completed them. _Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq…_

“Okay, well, I don’t really care all that much. Breakfast should be starting soon, and you know if you wait too long there won’t be anything good left.”

“About Gérard Lacroix.” She blurted out.

Silence. Usually, she was thrilled to be met with it. Idyllic, perfect quiet. Idle chatter was an annoyance to her, she would rather sit in silence than waste time on it.

But this silence was no comfort to her. The mask Gabe wore over his face, or was it a part of him? Whichever it was, she couldn’t read his expression. And that was worrying. She may have said too much already…

“Please.” She said, weakly. “Don’t tell anyone.”

He finally shifted from his position leaning on the wall, shaking his head. Something about the entire gesture looked grim, and not just because he looked like the harbinger of death personified.

“That’s… Not good, Amélie.”

“I’m aware.”

“That kind of thinking… Dreaming, whatever.” Somehow, from his tone, she could imagine him rolling his eyes beneath his mask. If he even had eyes under there. “That means your past is coming back to you, in one way or another. They won’t like that one bit.”

“I can’t escape it completely. I never will. Lately, it’s been getting worse… The nightmare wasn’t the first thing. Sometimes, _nothing_ can trigger it—Something so minuscule as the smell of a French vanilla cappuccino, or a song on the radio… And I get lost in my past, like staring into a pool of disconnected memories. They’re mine, but many of them I can’t place. They are unfamiliar to me, yet warm and inviting… Like I could just jump in, but I know I can’t. I may never come out. I may not _want_ to come out.”

He had never seen her look so… Vulnerable. Gabe never considered himself an empathetic person, in life or… Well, whatever he was now. But the look on her face right then? It could make him one. Such pain and confusion in those striking yellow eyes. Even her body language was akin to that of a frightened child, as now she sat on her bed holding her knees to her chest, arms shielding her shins. A far cry from the formidable, emotionless assassin he was so used to seeing beside him on the battlefield.

“I’m here for you.” He offered, his voice little more than a guttural growl. “For whatever it’s worth.” He added, with a shrug. Best not to sound _too_ concerned.

And for the first time, he saw the corners of her mouth curl up into the faintest little smile. The little expression, he would _never, ever_ admit, actually made him feel something unfamiliar deep inside. Something ominous, yet not unpleasant.


End file.
